The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) by Sophie Jordan

“He is quite well. Resting right now. Thank you, and thank you for dropping off dinner last week for him. He loves your cook’s biscuits.”

“I will extend your compliments. She is quite proud of them, and always makes more than we could possibly eat. I will drop by with some more.”

“My uncle will love that.” She propped her empty bucket on the top rail of the fence and rested her boot on the bottom rung, showcasing the shapeliness of her calves and thighs. She was always so at ease with herself. Dressing in trousers was clearly second nature to her. “Any time you have more than you can eat, we’re happy to reap the surplus.”

Imogen nodded. “By all means. I will send them your way.” She glanced from the bucket and back to Gwen. “Very busy today?”

“I’m repairing some copper wall sconces for up at Penning Hall. Miss Lockhart wants the place in order before the arrival of the duke.”

“Ah.” Imogen nodded. “Of course. She is a most diligent housekeeper.”

“She is that. She has always kept me busy, but she has a whole slew of things for me to do after I repair these fixtures.” Gwen grinned. “No complaints, of course. I appreciate the business.”

“You work too hard, Gwen. I don’t suppose this is a good time to ask you to come and check on the gate behind our house. The latch is sticking. It might need replacing.”

“Oh, I’ll always have time for you. I’ll come by later this week. Perhaps a little before dinner.” Gwen grinned cheekily, shaking her head and tossing the shorter strands of fair hair back from her forehead. The pale wisps only fell back in place with a bounce. She wore her hair in double plaits and pinned them to the back of her head. It wasn’t the tidiest arrangement, and it brought to Imogen’s mind a Norwegian milkmaid, but Gwen somehow made it look fetching even with all the flyaway strands.

Imogen smiled. “That would be fine. You can stay and we will feed you and send a plate home for your uncle.”

Gwen placed a hand over her heart. “You are far too good for this earth, Imogen Bates.”

Imogen’s smile turned shaky. She didn’t think she could hold on to it much longer. “Oh, I don’t know about that.” She did not feel too good for this earth lately. Not at all.

Not even close.

As though Gwen’s words reignited the sudden urge to get on her way and set matters to rights, she said her farewell with a promise to see Gwen soon.

Waving, she turned and took a bracing breath. Time to put her plan to action.

Imogen walked until her destination loomed ahead. She opened the little white gate and walked through it up the stone walk to the front of Mrs. Hathaway’s house.

She stood before the door for several moments, letting the sunny yellow paint comfort and embolden her. Promises have been made. The demands of her conscience begged a resolution.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her hand and knocked briskly.

She would blame it all on a misunderstanding. Indeed. She nodded once determinedly. That should work.

She would insist she had not said he had the pox. No. No. She had simply misheard. The ballroom had been too loud. What she had said was: He has a bantam cock. He tripped on a clock. He has a head full of rocks. He needs new socks. He just purchased a red bantam cock.

Certainly one of those things was plausible and only a little ridiculous. From there, Imogen would dive into another topic. She would regale Mrs. Hathaway with some bit of news or harmless gossip. Imogen’s houseguests would be a topic of interest.

This was all about correcting the rumor she had started and moving on to another more interesting subject. Imogen could do it. She would fix it. And then she could move on.

Perhaps her life would return to how it was before she had tangled with Mr. Butler. They could go back to being nothing to each other.

As opposed to what?

What were they now?

She shook her head, shying from answering that question, but knowing, at the very least, that they weren’t nothing to each other. They were definitely something. It was indefinable and complicated. But something.

She looked skyward, freezing as her gaze landed on a silvery spiderweb in the corner of the porch ceiling. Squinting, she stared at that web, at the large spider with its delicately thin legs dancing over the threads. That web, that spider, transfixed her. As did the smaller bug stuck in its snare, helpless to do anything other than let its fate play out. She felt an odd kinship to that small bug.

The door creaked open and she soon found herself being greeted by Mrs. Hathaway. “Miss Bates! How lovely to see you. Come in. Come in.”

Imogen murmured a greeting and stepped inside.





Chapter Seventeen




The Hare and The Basket was the most crowded Perry had seen it in a good while, but he still found a seat. The long trestle table wasn’t empty, but he did not mind sitting among strangers. There was no pomp and circumstance in his life anymore, after all. No reason to cling to airs. He was not due it.

He was not anyone extraordinary, and sitting among ordinary people felt rather normal—more normal than he felt sitting at his mother’s table sipping a glass of Madeira as she schemed to get him back into the graces of high society. More preferable, at any rate.

This, he realized—sitting in a pub that had seen far better days—was somehow more fitting. It felt more aligned with who he was . . . who he had become. He was not certain when that had happened.